Monsters among Men
by TheShallowGamer
Summary: What if the only person you love is making a mistake? Punishment is inevitable if you intervene. But what happens if someone offers you another chance? Someone who really shouldn't be trusted. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__**A massive thank you to my beta **_**Queen of the Beasties who is an absolute star and you should revel in her sheer awesomeness! Any other mistakes are my own.**

_******I did say eventual johnlock in the summary and there is... sort of. There is going to be a lot of twists and turns in this fic. **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the show they run around and solve crimes in. I do however, own the plot and my OCs Jeff and Wendy. But I'm fairly certain they wont appear in the future. So forget about them. **_

**_WARNINGS_**_**- This fanfic does mention miscarriage, death and some abuse. If this could trigger or offend you in some way then please do not read! **_

_**If you like this then please R&R! All comments are welcome. **_

* * *

''I ask you not to intervene this time, Jim. Important lives are at stake.''

The figure being addressing smirks, his features hardened by the harsh light, his fingers drumming against the desk.

''Have you ever heard of the fable about the scorpion and the frog?''

The man before him is about to reply but Jim interrupts him, waving a bony finger in the air.

''A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog asks 'How do I know you won't sting me?' The scorpion replies 'Because if I do, I will die too.' The frog decides to trust the scorpion but midstream, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog's onset of paralysis starts to sink and, knowing they will both drown, he asks 'Why?' Replies the scorpion: 'It's my nature...' It is in my nature to watch your people burn and die. Your nature is to forgive me.''

''This is too far, I will not allow you to slaughter those who are innocent!''

''Ah.'' Jim chuckles, bearing off his perfect teeth. '' It's not just me though; it will be wise of you to remember that my name, my true name is the same as yours. When people speak of me they speak of you as well. We're not so different after all.''

''I save lives-''

''YOU give false hope! People hate me because I am a hurtful truth yet people worship at your feet because you give them a comforting lie. I have been there, worshiping you, adoring you, and you betrayed me!''

''You betrayed yourself-''

''Enough!'' Jim shouts, fire pouring out of him. It engulfs the room in a magnificent orb of red and yellow light. The man slams his hand into the belly of the fire and it flickers for a moment or two before it starts to burn down and fade away.

''See to it, Jim that this will not result in another war. For I fear that blood will not be the only thing you pay.''

The man promptly vanishes.

Jim licks his thumb and index finger and puts out the flame burning a hole in his suit. He sits behind the desk again, placing his feet upon it. The shadows hide his face now; only his cold eyes can be made out.

''Perhaps it's time John Watson got a wake-up call.''

* * *

~Chapter One~ A stolen soul.

John rolls onto his back and pushes himself away from the figure sleeping next to him. Mary, with her short blonde hair sweeping over her pillow, black eyeliner smudged around her lower lash line where she carelessly left it on and the rise and fall of her chest in time with each light snore escaping her.

John lifts himself from the mattress, his legs swinging out of the bed, and stretches but his body won't co-operate. Instead he raises his arm up only to have it drop by his side again in exhaustion.

In the kitchen he opens the cupboard and reaches for the third glass on the left. He turns on the tap and the cool water fills the sink. The old, dirty water rises as the clean water from the tap flows into the sink. He forgot to take the plug out. Again.

Droplets run down the glass and form a puddle on the counter. He will forget to clean it. There will be a fight. Again.

After only the first year John and Mary's marriage has broken. He cannot accept that she had lied to him about who she was and she cannot accept that he will not fully forgive her. It didn't matter when Mary was pregnant but she had miscarried and their relationship fell apart almost immediately. There had been fights, physical and verbal, silence for days and even weeks, leading up to the next big fight where they would both say things they didn't mean but really it was just a cover up. However, this time John had gone too far.

Outside the rain has stopped but it has left the air miserable and bleak. John and Mary will complain about the weather. The roads will be slippery and even though John does not drive to work or walk he does cycle and this will cause further aggravation to his already awful morning. Mornings are not John's best time. He wants to lie in bed and sleep some more but his nightmares pester him. They will never allow him a peaceful sleep.

John does not make breakfast in the morning anymore; he does not have a cup of tea, nor a full English breakfast, only water and then he starts to get ready for work. Tomorrow will be the same.

By the time John has finished packing the clothes he will take to work, Mary has woken up and she pads into the kitchen wearing her dressing gown.

''You're late," she says, not to him. She never speaks directly to him after a fight. No eye contact. Only facts and the fact is that John is late. This was how they start their mornings; Mary stating that John is late and John just nodding, not daring to speak.

''They will complain again," she states. He nods. Mary brushes past John and his fingertips graze against her hand. She stays still and John thinks he can see a glimmer of hope in her eyes but she twitches and moves away from him just as fast as she has previous times. She has not forgiven him; he has crossed the line.

''Dinner will be ready at seven.''

She turns the kettle on and picks up a cloth to mop up the mess John had made earlier and tsks.

John nods and slings his backpack onto his shoulder and exits the kitchen, but before he reaches the front door Mary rushes toward him and grabs his shoulder.

''I need to speak to you when you get home tonight," she says and removes her hand from his shoulder and walks up the stairs. John's grip on the door handle tightens and his stomach flips. Mary has never done that before, John thinks. Something is wrong. He swallows and leaves for work.

* * *

The hours pass by as John visits each patient. He walks along the dismal corridors, the floors dirty and the wallpaper peeling off. The fading pictures only add to the depressing atmosphere.

He takes a sharp turn to the left and opens the door for an older woman. Thin wisps of white hair have fallen out of her tight ponytail, her eyes are swollen and red and the lines on her face are deep and heavy. She clutches a tissue to her face and brushes past John, nodding at him before disappearing behind the corner. She wouldn't come back. John knew this. They never did. There isn't a lot that the staff could do for her now. There is no cure, probably never would be, but at this hospital you have to pretend there is and today John couldn't even muster a smile.

He drags his feet to Wendy the receptionist and places the stack of forms on the desk.

''Here's the stay-in forms from the printer. Who was the woman crying just now?'' John asks and Wendy looks up from the computer and stops typing.

''Oh, thanks,'' she says and takes one of the forms before beckoning a man who is sitting in the waiting room to come sign.

''So the woman?'' John persists, failing to hide his impatience.

'Oh right. She's just another zombie,'' Wendy says and John nods. He understands. At this hospital the patients that come in and are declared to have no hope to survive a year are called zombies. It's a horrible, cruel word and several times John has tried to get colleges to stop using it.

''That's the seventh one this week.," John mumbles to himself, leaning on the desk. The man finishes signing and looks at John.

His heart races as his eyes meet the stranger's. He is entranced by them, so sharp and piercing yet with certain warmth hidden behind them. John doesn't want to look away but he tears his gaze away and traces the man's tall, slender figure, from his tousled black curls to his shoes which are a size too big, his suit the colour of the ocean on a stormy night and his hands resembling the moon, pale but beautiful.

They continue to stare at each other before the man tilts his head down and opens the door to leave.

John lets out a sudden sigh. He opens his mouth to speak but it springs back up and shuts. He gulps. After a moment he tries again and with a little more success says a word or two but it comes out raspy and barely audible to those around him.

He feels light-headed but his mind won't stop going back to that moment, that feeling of all logic and reason drifting away from his body, warmth and power replacing it.

Wendy is the first to speak.

''Well that was weird. Do you know him?''

Inhale. Exhale. He tells himself.

''Never seen him before in my life," he replies but in the back of his mind something tells him he is lying. He recognises that man. He doesn't know where from but is sure he knows.

* * *

Just after six John goes round to the patients to say goodbye and turn off the corridor lights. He has to wait for the night staff to get ready so he waits in the reception and brings out a book to read. The rain is pouring down and it smacks against the windows, the little droplets sliding down the glass. Its companion the wind shortly arrives causing the windows to rattle and shake with fear. The lights from the cars passing by shine through the windows and for a few moments the room looks alive and tranquil. But this was quickly snatched away as the cars pass and make the room become a barren and pitiful sight.

John admits that it is not the most comfortable place to read but he enjoys the few minutes of being alone.

After the first two minutes of trying to concentrate on the book John convinces himself that he can't relax and instead glances upwards.

He gasps in fear or excitement he cannot tell.

The man he met before in the reception is standing in the doorway, staring at him. He looks exactly the same except his hair is wilder and the curls spring in every direction.

The two men stay like this, looking at each other, neither of them attempting to move for minutes before the man starts walking toward him.

Panic surges through John. He doesn't understand why his body is reacting differently than it did before. His hands involuntarily are clenched around the book and his knuckles become white. He wants to stop his body from being so afraid but it has taken over and all he can do is follow along.

The man sits beside him in the hard red chair and turns to face him. His back is hunched against the chair and John desperately tries to take control of his body again.

''Hello.'' He speaks, his voice no more than a whisper yet deep.

_Wake up John. Wake up._

Suddenly the voice pumps through John's brain and his whole body shakes, his ears ringing and his throat closing. Pins and needles stab through his legs and arms and he gasps for air. He is drowning.

This all happens in the space of a second and the fog clouding John's vision disappears. His brain is able to recognise the voice. The man sat beside him.

He quickly glances at the stranger but his supposed attacker stays still, simply looking at John and taking in his features.

The wind has stopped by now and the only sound is the light drumming of the rain. There is no light in the reception now, almost as if the room was silenced by the arrival of the tall figure.

A few minutes go by and John remains silent, his grip on the book still tight.

''Shouldn't you be in your room? Patients aren't allowed to wander the corridors at night, especially if they-"

The man raises his hand in front of John stopping him from talking.

''I'm not a patient, John.''

The stranger's voice is sensual and smooth, a velvety whisper that causes the hairs on John's body to become rigid and goose bumps to dot his skin. He tells his body to relax, that the man in front of him doesn't seem threatening.

''How do you know my name?'' There is no mistaking the fear in John's voice and his eyes lock onto the mans. Big mistake.

The man smirks. He can clearly see that John is attracted to him whenever their eyes meet. His pupils dilate and open wider, his shoulders loosen and his whole face softens. The man cannot help but let a small chuckle escape his lips.

''What's so funny?''

''You.'' The man says and he shakes his head in amusement before continuing. ''You are clearly wearing a name badge.'' His finger points to the badge which brushes against the soft material of the shirt. John shudders.

''Oh. Right. Sorry. '' John mumbles, his cheeks burning; he wouldn't be surprised if they caught fire! He broke their gaze and stares at his feet.

The man chuckles again.

''So, Doctor John Watson.'' The man playfully says his name. ''Not going home?''

''I have to wait until the night staff is ready.'' Not that it is any of the man's business, John thinks, but he doesn't want to be rude.

Just as soon as John says this Jeff, who is the head of the night staff, walks into the reception.

''Hey John we're ready so you can go now.'

''Oh right. Well thanks, Jeff.''

Jeff leaves and just as John finally loosens his grip on the book and relaxed somewhat the mention of going home makes his shoulders tense up and his hands ball into fists.

''You don't sound too happy to be going home,'' the man states flatly and returns his gaze back to the doctor.

''It's really none of your business,'' John snaps and closes the book, putting it away in his bag. He's ready to leave.

The man laughs as if what John said was some sort of joke.

''My job is to know other people's business, John. Here, take this.'' From his pocket he produces a small, rectangular piece of paper and places it in John's lap.

''What is it?'' John asks and picks up the paper. It reads:

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting detective.

221B Baker Street.

London Nw1.

'' My business card," the man says. "It seems things are happening, John, and not all of them good.''

He rises and turns up the collar on his coat before walking out of the hospital, turning back to smile before disappearing into the London streets.

''Sherlock Holmes,'' John whispers in wonderment. ''What the hell are you playing at?''

He inhales deeply, his lungs sucking in all the air that they could. He glances at the clock sitting above the reception's desk. It's six-thirty; he's going to be late getting home.

John does not have long to think over what has just happened before his phone vibrates in his pocket.

The familiar number flashes on-screen. Mary.

* * *

By the time John has returned home Mary has called him six times. Each time John had ignored the shrill ring and she would hang up in frustration.

It is now half past seven.

John's battered bag is flung onto the floor, his sodden coat hangs up to dry on the hanger and his shoes are kicked off. There is no light or warmth in the flat and John can hear the heavy breathing of someone in the next room.

He anxiously begins to tiptoe towards the sound of the noise and stops in the doorway. A pale, thin woman is sitting at the kitchen table, her head resting in her hands. In front of her is two miserable plates full of chicken, roast potatoes, vegetables and gravy but they have turned cold and dinner is spoiled. John mentally kicks himself; she had made an effort to make dinner special.

Mary loudly exhales and says, with her head still in her hands, ''Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?'' She asks. He doesn't answer. ''Do you know how much effort I put into all of this?'' No answer. ''Well...Do you!'' she screams and flings her arms, crashing her palms onto the table. John jerks at the noise and bows his head in shame.

''I worked so hard to try to make this special for you t-to try to make it up to you!'' She shouts, standing up and kicking the chair under the table. Her hair is greasy, her make-up had run down her face in lines from crying and she is dressed in a baggy jumper and jogging bottoms. She has lost a lot of weight after the miscarriage. She shakes with anger and her bottom lip pouts out.

''I know,'' John replies. He doesn't know what to say. He has screwed up.

''You know?'' Mary whispers but instead of becoming angry she laughs coldly. ''You know?'' She repeats and shakes her head. ''You don't know a damn thing, John Watson.''

Rage and fury boil up inside John and it reaches its maximum point. He has had enough.

''Don't. You. Dare,'' he spits out and it lands in all directions. ''Don't you dare speak to me like that.'' He warns and steps closer to her.

''I have every right to speak to you how I want to.'' She argues back and stands stock still, not daring to move away from him.

He lunges forward and grabs her by the arm, his grip tight.

''Don't you forget that I am your husband. You will treat me with the respect I deserve!'

''You deserve nothing!'' She cries out in pain and her pathetic sobs fill the air. She sways on her feet. ''It's no wonder that I'm leaving you!''She bellows and all at once everything falls silent.

John's eyes are big and wild, his brows furrowed together, but his grip on her loosens. He has turned to stone.

''Say that again.''

Mary shakes her head, becoming aware of what she had just declared.

''Say. It. Again.'' He pauses between each word making it clear that he is in no mood to play around.

''I'm leaving you.'' The words pour out of her mouth in a whisper and they spin around Johns head, tormenting him.

''For who?''

''Does it matter?'' She asks and he squeezes her arm, digging his fingernails into her flesh, causing her to wince in pain.

''What do you think?''

''You don't know him, I used to work for him.''

''Does he know that you are planning to leave your husband or were you just going to turn up on his door one night with a suitcase and a child?'' John seethes and drops Mary's arm heavily and slams his fist onto the table. He smiles and Mary looks away. She knows that smile. She is all too familiar with the corners of John's lips curving upwards to make that smile.

It's the smile he makes before hell breaks loose.

''Were you just going to leave me without an explanation and walk off with my child?''

''It's not-The baby-I...''

Mary does not need to spell it out for John. The baby is not his.

'' John, I never meant to hurt you it was just-'' Mary began to explain herself but John raised his hand to stop her. He couldn't hear anymore.

''It was suffocating, our relationship. You never forgave me for my past and our marriage was becoming stressful, we couldn't go on and he was there when I needed him and-''

John shoots Mary one last cold stare before he swiftly walks toward the door.

''John!'' Mary shouts and rushes after him but she is too late; the door is ajar and the cold London air sweeps inside the flat. She leans outside and sees him walking, his shoulders slumped and his body hunched, protecting himself from the forceful wind.

''John. John! Please, just come back so we can talk!'' She calls after him, pleading in desperation. He slows down, and turns around to look at her, walking backwards as he says:

''About what? No, I'm done Mary. It's over.'' He reaches the end of the pathway but his feet won't stop.

''It's over!''

The driver has no time to halt the car before John's head hits the car windshield. His body flies over the car and he falls to the ground.

Mary continues to call his name but he does not come back, he does not stir, he sleeps on in the pot-holed road.

Jim Moriarty smiles and turns to see Sherlock bowing his head and whispering.

''Wake up John. Wake up.''


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **_

_****__**A massive thank you to my beta **_**Queen of the Beasties! **

_******And thanks to the guest reviewer who was kind enough to leave two reviews. Keep 'em coming! **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the show they run around and solve crimes in. I do however, own the plot and my OCs **_

_**If you like this then please R&R! All comments are welcome.**_

* * *

''I warned you, Sherlock. I specificity told you not to go near him. Remember what happened the last time?''

'It won't be like last time. I know what I'm doing. ''

The man inhales deeply, clearly losing patience.

''No Sherlock, you're wrong. You have no idea what you are doing. Do you know how much damage you caused last time, damage we are still trying to repair today? You were warned of the relationship between the both of you and to ask him to help is beyond insanity!''

''Jim's methods may be extreme but-''

''Johns lying in a hospital bed because of you, Sherlock. It took two months for our healers to be able to help him. The doctors have no idea how a man with his injuries is still alive. He won't survive a third time,'' the man says softly and he attempts to clasp Sherlock by the shoulder but Sherlock steps away from him, his body jerking backwards.

''I wouldn't do that to him. You may doubt my plan but don't for one second think that I won't protect John with my life,'' Sherlock snaps. He feels his temperature rising and he can almost feel the blood boiling in his veins.

The man looks at him with such sympathy that Sherlock wants to punch him. He doesn't want his sympathy or pity. His phone begins to vibrate in his pocket and he fishes it out. His eyes scan over the text and he puts it back into his pocket. ''Excuse me.'' He swiftly turns and proceeds to walk away, ignoring the warnings of the man behind him.

The door slams close and only the man is left. His brows are knitted together and he sighs long and hard before speaking.

''Oh Sherlock, what has he done to you?''

~Chapter 2~

A Devils meeting.

The wrinkles around Mycroft Holmes's eyes only worsen each day as a result of his younger brother. Mycroft was the first to know about the 'John situation' and he quickly made sure that Sherlock was taken to a safe location and John sent to hospital.

He would often find himself wondering if John had died that day maybe the whole business between Jim and Sherlock would be over.

He sits at his desk and a sense of calmness and authority surrounds him. His phone is placed over his ear.

''I left an important folder at the front desk for you. Make sure that you collect it before you go and see him. Do inform me of what happens,'' he says and places the phone back into his pocket.

''Mycroft what happens if they won't let me see him? My-'' Greg Lestrade says and realises that Mycroft has hung up on him. Typical.

Greg hastily shoves his phone away as he sees Sally Donovan walking towards him. In her right hand is a brown file covered in pencil marks and folds but in the middle, written in bold letters, is the name 'John Watson'.

''Here is all the information we have about him.'' Sally hands Greg the file. ''Mycroft was kind enough to deliver it to us and in person as well,'' she says, clicking her tongue at that last statement.

''Mycroft was here?'' Greg asks, skimming through the file. Mycroft never leaves his desk unless he has to. ''Bit of a surprise that he would do that,'' Lestrade looks away from the folder and decides to change the subject. ''So the car just hit him? Did you speak with the driver yet?''

''Yeah, we have him in back at the moment. He says a man just walked straight into the road and it was too late to brake. He ending up hitting him, and hard too.''

''I'll go visit him. Thanks Sally, I'll call you if I find out anything from him.''

Greg closes the file and gives Donovan a tight-lipped smile before making his way towards the door.

''So how does a man getting hit by a car involve Mycroft?'' Donovan calls after him, her voice filled with curiosity.

''It's personal, '' Greg shouts back and continues to half jog and half walk off.

Sally watches as he leaves the building and smiles, her teeth sharp and stained from the coffee. She shakes her head and walks down the corridor to find Anderson, her hair bouncing and her smile becoming wider.

* * *

After lying to the receptionist that he was indeed John's older brother, Greg Lestrade finds himself sitting next to a broken and bruised John Watson.

Fluid is being pumped into the man's body and nurses are bustling in and out of the room, checking in on him and shooting Greg suspicious looks from time to time.

John's hair is scruffy and unbrushed and his breathing is slow. His body looks like it has aged overnight; bruises and scrapes are scattered over his pale skin and the circles under his eyes have only grown darker. Greg sighs and looked at his watch.

The doctor has told him that although John's injuries were fatal, due to him responding so well with treatment he would make a complete recovery. But he is still in a bad condition and advised that John gets as much rest as possible and to not be put into stressful situations. Greg had nodded and understood what was being said but he knew he could not follow the last thing the doctor said. This was certainly going to be a stressful situation.

John has been slipping in and out of consciousness. He would dream but he would only be able to see blurry objects and colours. This time it was different.

''John. John Watson.'' The voice calls, much like a father trying to coax a sleeping child from his slumber. It is soft and warm and John feels immediate comfort from the voice. His eyes open and he sees a man he knows is familiar.

''John can you hear me? I need you to wake up now. Wake up, John. Please just wake up.''

John gasps and he is ripped away from sleep. He jerks upwards and pulls on the machines that force him to stay down. He can't breathe and his body feels like ice.

''John?! John, can you hear me?'' Greg leaps from the chair and grabs at Johns arm, trying to hold him still. ''John! It's OK. You're OK!'' The reassurance from the voice calms John slightly and his body relaxes. After the panic washes away from him he can hear the beeping of the machines, but no doctors or nurses come to check on him.

Greg still has a tight hold on John's arm and his other hand clings onto the metal bed frame. After a few moments Greg relaxes his grip and occupies his hands by jabbing furiously at the machine's buttons, trying to stop the annoying sound and prevent any nurses from coming into the room.

An awkward silence falls and wind brushes past the window, making the hairs on John's arms stand up.

''How are you feeling?'' The inspector is the first to speak; his hand clings to the back of his neck and massages it. One of his habits when he feels nervous.

John does not speak, the words from his dream swimming through his mind. He can't muster a word, never mind a sentence. How does he feel? Scared, confused, lost? Angry. The feeling is small, but John can still feel the sensation of the word. It makes his whole body twitch and shake. He tries desperately to claw at the feeling to uncover why he is angry but his body fails him and the burning heat from inside him is put out and he returns to feeling nothing.

''Fine.'' It seems the most appropriate word to use. Wasn't that what people said when they lied? John was not fine. Even he knew this. He glances down and sees the cuts and bruises over his arms and he lifts a hand to his head, feeling the knots in his hair.

'' Are you a doctor?'' Stupid question. The man in front of him isn't wearing a uniform but John doesn't like the silence.

The inspector smiles and motions his head towards the chair. John nods and Greg sits down, placing his hands over his knees as he leans forward so his back and the seat don't meet.

''No I'm not. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. But you can call me Greg.''

''Detective Inspector? Why would you be visiting me?''

Greg ignores the question and instead asks, ''You don't seem to care where you are.'' He pauses. ''Do you know where you are?''

''Judging by the machines I'm hooked up to and the uncomfortable bed I imagine I have a pretty good idea of where I am, Inspector,'' John says coldly. He is a doctor after all.

''Do you remember what happened?'' Greg speaks more softly this time; it is a simple question but he doubts that John would remember.

John starts to shrink into himself like his whole body is melting. His mind is working overtime, trying to come up with an answer for the DI. Something is there, locked away in the dark corners of his mind but every time he struggles to reach it he is dragged back and the word error flashes in front of his eyes, bold and bright red.

The slow shake of his head is all John can manage as an answer.

Greg can see the disappointment in John's eyes and it takes all he has not to reach for his hand to provide some comfort.

''It doesn't really matter at the moment,'' Greg says at last, trying to reassure John. '' All that matters is your health.''

''The doctors told me that I was lucky, I kept asking what they meant but they wouldn't answer. They said I had to wait for you.''

'' I can't answer all your questions now and I'm not going to but you had a terrible accident, and I don't want to frighten you but yes, you are lucky. Your accident could easily have killed you and for a while it looked like it did. They did a remarkable job, though. You look a lot better than you did. ''

He shifts his body and the folder that was sitting on his lap slides downwards, spilling onto the floor.

''What's that?'' John asks as Greg's grabs at the folder and puts it back on his lap. He glances down and quickly covers John's name with his hand.

''Nothing important. Just work files,'' he answers and John nods slowly, not quite convinced.

''One of the nurses told me that my brother was visiting today. I'm guessing that would be you?''

''Yeah, only way the bastards would let me through,'' Greg replies and John cannot help but let a snort of laughter escape him. Greg laughs along, his cheeks becoming pink.

''Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here? Wouldn't a detective have more important things to do than visit a patient?''

''Surprisingly, no. And unfortunately even I can't answer that question. My...friend decided it would be a good idea if I come to meet you before he does.''

''So this is an assessment then? Making sure that I'm sane before I'm allowed to get my questions answered?'' The laughter quickly fades and coldness stamps out the small bridge of trust which John had given to Greg.

Sensing the immediate change Greg says, ''That's not what it's like at all, John. It's just that things are complicated at the moment and he wanted to make sure that you're ready.''

''And am I?'' John can't answer for himself. He realises that he can't rely on his feelings at the moment. ''Am I ready?''

Greg himself doesn't understand John's situation or his true involvement in Mycroft's plan. However he can see the kind of man John is. Brave and resilient. Whether that makes him ready or not is another question, but he thinks that a man like John is ready for anything.

''Yes,'' Greg says and a small smile slides its way onto his face. ''Yes I think you are, John Watson.''

* * *

Greg stays with John for a while before his eyes start to close and his head begins to flop forwards. Greg insists that John gets some rest and promises to come back with his friend later on in the week.

He returns to Scotland Yard and sits at his desk, pondering through the day and getting his thoughts on track. The beeping of his phone interrupts him.

He answers but before he can say anything the voice on the other end stops him and says, ''Ah, Gregory. Finally. I've been trying to reach you for a while now. I take it that you went to see him. How is he?''

''Hello to you Mycroft,'' Greg says jokingly and rolls his eyes. ''And John is doing fine although he wasn't happy to hear that you will be visiting him.''

''What did he say when you told him about the accident?''

''I didn't. I told him that I can't answer his questions and it would be better to wait for you.''

''A wise decision. In any case I was thinking that we could go visit him tomorrow, and then try to discharge him from the hospital after that. Does that fit with your schedule?''

The sudden comment from Mycroft makes Greg stop tapping his fingers on the desk and he holds the phone closer to his ear, making sure that he heard correctly.

''Mycroft, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Two visits in the space of a day, and trying to get him out? He's still trying to recover, after all. It was obvious today that he's confused and putting him in that situation would make him more vulnerable. We should hold off, at least on trying to get him to leave, for now.''

Greg inhales deeply, trying to catch his breath again from speaking so fast. Mycroft listens to what Greg has to say before he speaks again.

''You told me that he has questions and from what I can imagine he must be eager to get them answered, so what's a better time than tomorrow to answer them? As for leaving the hospital, it would be better to get him adapted sooner rather than later.''

Greg cannot deny that Mycroft is right even if he still believes it's too soon. He exhales in defeat.

''I guess you're right. We have to go over a few things, though, before we visit him.''

''I'll have Anthea send you a time and location to meet me. Before I forget, that folder about John is very important, Gregory. Keep it safe and don't let anyone have possession of it. We do not need things to get more complicated than they already are.''

Mycroft doesn't even say goodbye as he pushes the 'end call' button and steps into the car.

''Goodbye Mycroft,'' Greg says out loud to himself and chuckles. He puts his phone down and turns his attention towards the brown folder. He spends the rest of the day reading page by page until the remaining light of day is enveloped by the dark blanket of night.

* * *

For John the morning has been a jumbled mess of confusion and overwhelmingness. A washing machine spinning round until John couldn't decipher which feeling was which. He had dreamed that he felt like he was flying but when he had woken up it felt more like he was falling, hurtling towards the ground, unable to stop himself.

He remembers the strange visit he had from Greg and it instantly calms him that the man promised to come see him again soon. He would get his questions answered; he would finally know what happened to him.

The sun rays had long since disappeared when John wakes up and now, as he looks out of the hospital window, he sees the dark thread of night sown into the sky and small, almost unseeable lights appear and flicker, making the sky look less frightening.

The door creaks open and a round nurse with blonde curls walks in. ''Excuse me, Mr Watson? We normally don't allow this but a man's here to see you. Says he's an old friend.''

An old friend? John thinks it can't be Greg; he told them he was his brother, they would have recognised him.

''Oh right, well send them in.'' John waves his arm and the nurse moves away from the door to let the person inside. John sits upright and notices that one of the wires is knotted. He clumsily fiddles with it until the wire is straight again and he looks up.

Standing in front of him is Jim Moriarty.

''Hello John,'' he says. ''Long time no see.''


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: A massive thank you to my beta Queen of the Beasties! **_

_**Disclaimer: I probably don't have to keep saying this but I do not own any of the characters or the show they run around and solve crimes in. I do however, own the plot and my OCs. **_

_**Sorry for the delay with this chapter and how long it is. Although it is an important chapter. Next one will be longer. **_

_**Thank you to those who have followed this story. It does mean a lot to me!**_

_****__**If you like this then please R&R! All comments are welcome.**_

* * *

Chapter Three

The Spiders leaving webs.

''Aren't you going to ask me to sit down? Tut tut, John. I thought mummy raised you better than that.'' The man steps closer and the smell of his cologne hits John. His eyes are so dark that his pupils can't be seen. This alone unnerves John.

The mystified look on Johns face makes Moriarty smirk. ''Of course where are _my_ manners? Jim Moriarty,'' he says and extends a hand for John to shake. John just stares at the man in front of him, unsure whether he is joking or being serious.

''Who are you?'' John asks dumbly, frowning. ''I mean you said your name but-''

Moriarty waves a hand in the air to stop John and walks closer towards him, examining one of the machines.

''That accident has done more damage than I thought. I'll get Seb to bring some flowers. It would brighten this place up. Do you like roses?''

John cocks his head and frowns. "What are you talking about? What accident?''

Moriarty sighs and shakes his head. "You're a bit slow aren't you, Doctor Watson? If only we could harness the power of stupidity. We'd have perpetual energy. Your accident, John, is why you're here. Why I'm here, for that matter.''

'' You know what happened to me?'' Whoever this man is, John thinks, he may able to answer some of my questions.

''You don't remember?''

''No, someone called Greg is coming to meet me, told me that his friend would be able to help me.''

''Greg? Greg Lestrade?'' Moriarty questions and John nods. ''That means his friend must be Mycroft.'' Moriarty sneers and his face changes into an image of perfect rage.

''You're friends with them?'' John asks.

''I wouldn't exactly call them friends. Let's just say that the last time Mycroft and I met, the outcome was not good,'' he replies through gritted teeth. ''He thinks I'm trouble and that I'm leading his brother astray and doesn't approve. And when Mycroft doesn't approve well…'' Moriarty slams his fist into his other hand. ''He crushes them, like a bug. But he can't crush me no matter how many times he tries. A word of advice John, don't trust everything Mycroft tells you. There are always three sides of a story; yours, theirs and the truth. Pick carefully which one you believe.''

''Why are you telling me this?''

'' I'm telling you this, John, because when you do remember, when Mycroft Holmes answers your questions, you're going to have to choose. When you do choose the last piece of the puzzle slots into place and it will either lift you up higher or bring you crashing down. Everyone's waiting, John, including me.'' Moriarty grins wildly, his mouth twisting into a grin. John can barely think straight. Everything has him questioning his sanity, his hospitalisation, the strange voice calling him in his sleep and now this man confusing him even more. It's all too much for him to handle.

''I don't understand - why do I matter? I never asked for any of this!'' John's voice cracks and tears fill his eyes as he tries to control the chaos inside his head. When he looks at Moriarty he swears he can almost see pity in his eyes. John would later realise that men like Moriarty have no concept of pity.

''You matter because he chose you. ''

''Who?''

''Sherlock Holmes.''

The fog blocking Johns mind vanishes and a white light appears and it's so blinding that all John can do is close his eyes. When he does images flash through his mind of a man with thick curls of black hair, and the smell of old books and cigarette smoke.

''Sherlock Holmes?'' _Why is that name so familiar?_

''Don't tell me you've forgotten him as well? I thought you would at least remember him,'' Moriarty says and retreats from the bed to stand in the doorway. ''Ignorance is bliss...isn't that what ordinary people say?'' He taps on the door and reaches into his pocket to produce two pieces of paper. ''You dropped this when you fell. And this is for if you decide to call him. '' He smirks and places a small, wrapped box onto the bed. Without another word he leaves.

John blinks rapidly, trying to decide whether that was real or a dream. He strains to reach the pieces of paper. After struggling he finally grabs hold of them both and turns them around to read them. The first one is just a number. _Moriarty's,_John guesses and then the next one is a business card:

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting detective

221B Baker Street

London Nw1

_Sherlock again. Why did Moriarty give me this?_

He reaches for the box that Moriarty gave him and fumbles to open it. Taking the lid off he peers inside and sees a mobile phone. He picks it up and looks at the card again. _Is this what he wants? He wants me to call a man I have never met before._

John doesn't know whether to laugh or to tear the card up. But he doesn't because for the first time in a long time John can sense excitement. Fear as well but mostly excitement. What had Moriarty said? He had to choose a side and since he didn't know when Greg was coming back it seemed that John had to take matters into his own hands.

He grabs the phone and picks up Sherlock's card again, turning it over to punch the numbers in. His hands shake and his stomach fills with nerves. He has to backspace a couple of times from shaking so much. As he types he wonders if it is a good idea to call. He checks the time on the phone and it's late, too late to call a complete stranger. ''Maybe it's too late to ring,'' He thinks out loud. Making his decision he jabs the cancel button and is directed back to the home screen.

Outside Jim Moriarty goes to the contacts list on his phone and stops at Sherlock's.

**Jim: Greg's planning on visiting again. With Mycroft.**

Sherlock replies almost immediately.

**Sherlock: Baker Street. Now.**

* * *

Greg arrives at the hospital with Mycroft at one. They recognise Greg's face so there's no hassle for them to get through. Greg leads the way and eventually stops and knocks before opening the door.

''Hey,'' He says as he sees John and walks inside, taking off his coat and placing a small suitcase on the floor. ''I hope this isn't too soon.''

''No, it's good to see you again,'' John replies with a small smile which falters slightly as he turns his attention to the other man in the room. Mycroft strides forwards, his umbrella tapping on the hard ground, and nods in John's direction.

''You must be John,'' Mycroft says.

''And you must be Greg's friend,'' John answers back and Mycroft glances at Greg.

''I suppose if you want to call us that. Mycroft Holmes.'' Mycroft reaches his hand out for John to shake but everything in John's body turns cold. _This is Mycroft Holmes?_John slowly comes out of his daze and shakes the hand in front of him. He quickly pulls away, not liking the odd texture of the man's cold hand touching his own.

There's a short pause before Greg steps forward and says ''John, before coming here I rang up the hospital and asked if it would be possible to allow you to leave.'' He picks up the suitcase and puts it gently on the bed. ''I have some old clothes of mine that you can change into.''

''They are actually allowing me to go?'' John asks and glances between the two men.

''Yeah as long as you get enough rest they said there's no reason to let you stay here.'' Greg smiles as he sees Johns face light up with the thought of actually going outside after spending months in hospital.

''But where will I go? I can't even remember where I live.'' Worry starts to replace John's excitement and his body tenses up.

''Mycroft and I decided that it would be best if you stayed with me for now,'' Greg calmly says, noticing John's worries and trying to reassure him that everything has been planned for. ''And when we get back there Mycroft and I are going to answer any questions like I promised,'' Greg continues.

''I just have one at the moment.''

''Which is?'' Mycroft asks.

''Can we get some food? I'm starving,'' John says and he and Greg both laugh while Mycroft rolls his eyes and goes outside to get the discharge papers.

* * *

After John and Greg both insist on having fish and chips for lunch to Mycroft's complaints, his car drives them to Greg's. They enter the main entrance and John is surprised by how modern it looks. The walls are painted white and the wooden floor creaks as they move forward. He walks over to the lift and presses the button pointing up.

'' The lifts broken so we have to take the stairs,'' Greg says apologetically and begins to climb the mountain of stairs to his flat. ''My flats on floor four so it's a bit of a climb, will you be OK John?''

John just nods and grabs hold of the metal banister to support him while Mycroft stays behind him in case he falls. The crutch, which the hospital supplied, slows John down but this allows him time to take in his surroundings. He breathes slowly and when he is halfway to floor four Greg shouts,

''Mycroft!''

Like a bullet Mycroft passes John and rushes to the top of the stairs. John begins to do the same but handling the crutch is too awkward and when he finally reaches the flat the door is wide open.

John limps in after them and sees that both Greg and Mycroft are staring at a man who is standing in the middle of the room. His eyes lock onto the man's face.

''John Watson, I believe it's about time we met. I'm Sherlock Holmes.''


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: A massive thank you to my beta Queen of the Beasties!**_

_**Disclaimer: I probably don't have to keep saying this but I do not own any of the characters or the show they run around and solve crimes in. I do however, own the plot and my OCs.**_

_**I'm so excited for this chapter and the ones to come. I can finally start to begin the real story...**_

_**Thank you to those who have followed this story. It does mean a lot to me!**_

_**If you like this then please R&R! All comments are welcome.**_

* * *

Chapter Four

Home is where the heart is.

Surprise is an instinctual response. Humans are designed to be alert all the time; we use a remarkable amount of energy to keep our brains ready for anything. But when John saw the face of Sherlock Holmes he was certainly not ready.

''Sherlock Holmes?'' John asks, not quite believing that the man in front of him is the man Moriarty has told him about. '' You're Sherlock Holmes?'' John's heart is beating rapidly and his palms have become sweaty.

''In the flesh,'' Sherlock answers and he strides towards John, not taking long to reach him. He towers over him and John can't help but feel smaller when Sherlock is standing in front of him, which allows John to get a better look at the man. Everything about Sherlock resembles ice, his eyes pale blue and cold, his skin pale with no colour on his cheeks. John even bets that if he were to touch him his whole hand would freeze. But he is wrong because when Sherlock's fingers reach out and grasp Johns wrist there is no coldness. Only warmth, the kind that John hasn't felt in a long time. He looks down at the hand and then back into Sherlock's eyes.

''You should sit down, I imagine standing up is rather painful for you, considering the crutch,'' Sherlock mumbles and he removes his hand from John's wrist and the warmth is gone.

In his daze John has forgotten that Mycroft and Greg are still there and when he sits down and places the crutch it takes only a few moments for them both to continue talking.

''This is ridiculous, Sherlock! You cannot just break into Gregory's flat,'' Mycroft says. ''You know the rules; you are not allowed near him.'' Mycroft darts a quick glance at John.

''I didn't break in I have a key.'' Sherlock reaches into his pocket and produces a small key. ''I acquired it a while ago, just in case. Secondly what is ridiculous, brother, are those rules. There is no reason that John and I should be kept apart.''

Mycroft is Sherlock's brother? John thinks. It makes sense now. And what does he mean apart? What's he got to do with this?

''There is every reason, Sherlock. Pretending that the actions you took were necessary is a mistake you do not want to make.''

Sherlock's jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists. For a moment it seems that he is about to lash out at Mycroft until Greg swiftly moves forward and stands in the middle of them both, blocking Sherlock from harming Mycroft. ''Don't do this here. Not now. It can wait. There's more important things we need to talk about,'' Greg says, looking from Sherlock and Mycroft.

They both relax and Greg lowers his arms. ''I'm going to make us all a cup of tea and then we can sit down and talk about all of this, OK?'' Greg says and he and Mycroft both go into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and John in the living room.

Sherlock doesn't speak, but stands looking silently at John and John stares back feeling uncertain of what to do next. John clears his throat and says, ''You and him," he gestures towards the kitchen, ''are brothers?''

''Unfortunately for me, yes.'' John and Sherlock both laugh and then relaxing somewhat. Sherlock decides to sit next to John, keeping some distance between them so he doesn't make John feel uncomfortable.

''How much can you remember?'

''Not a lot. Everything's blurry. Maybe you can fill me in on what's happening?''

Sherlock doesn't allow himself to feel upset that John doesn't know who he is. He'd known that he probably wouldn't remember him but still he hoped that maybe by John seeing him he would remember.

''I was given this though, by Jim Moriarty,'' John says and he hands Sherlock the business card that Moriarty had given him.

''A detective. Impressive,'' Sherlock gives John a tight smile and returns the card.

''He said that I might need to call you," said John. "Why? I don't remember you or Jim, or any of you, really, so who are you?''

Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but before he can speak Greg returns with a tray of tea and Mycroft follows behind.

''We can't talk here," Sherlock whispers. "Not with Mycroft around. I wouldn't mention that you met Moriarty to Mycroft. I do have an idea, though.'' He turns to face the other two men.

''We need to talk about what will happen next regarding John,'' Mycroft says and pours the tea into four cups.

''I am here, Mycroft. You can address me as well,'' John says irritably and takes the cup, not caring if he's acting rude.

''For the foreseeable future, John, you will be in either mine or Gregory's care. It will be best if you let us deal with these problems.''

''I'm not a child. I'm fine by myself, thank you.'' John puts the cup down and stands up only to miss his footing and fall back down on the couch.

''Clearly not,'' Mycroft says.

''What Mycroft means,'' Greg swoops in to try and stop any more arguments from occurring, ''is that while you are still recovering and trying to remember it would be best if you stayed with someone who understands the situation, someone like me or-''

''Me,'' Sherlock interrupts and John stares at him, uncertain of what to say. Mycroft on the other hand has a lot to say.

''No, he can't live with you. How do you expect to look after someone if you can't even look after yourself? The drugs, the smoking, your friendship with Moriarty. No, it's too dangerous, never mind breaking the promise you made,'' Mycroft argues.

Sherlock pulls up the sleeve of his jacket to show his arm and a nicotine patch. ''I'm clean, Mycroft. I have been for 3 months now.'' He pulls down the sleeve and continues, "And we're not friends; I needed his skills. He's using me just as much as I'm using him. You know the promise I agreed to. It doesn't say that we can't live together. By allowing John to live with me, maybe some of his memories will return. The sooner John can remember as much as he can the better.''

''What skills of Moriarty's do you need? Don't tell me you're planning on harming her.'' Mycroft's hand clenches around the handle of his umbrella and he anxiously looks at Sherlock.

''As much as I would like to, brother, I haven't stooped so low that I would resort to murder.''

There's a long pause until finally Mycroft slowly nods his head, giving Sherlock a thoughtful look before saying in defeat, ''Fine. It appears that I can't argue with you. John will be allowed to stay with you. There will be certain rules, though, that I hope you will follow. Outside Baker Street will be two armed guards to make sure that both John and yourself are protected. If John remembers anything you must alert either myself or Gregory immediately. To keep yourself and John safe I advise that you don't tell anyone that John is living at your flat. And finally, no inappropriate behaviour. Remember the promise, Sherlock.''

Sherlock simply rolls his eyes and waves his hand to show Mycroft that he understands. Greg gives John a sympathetic look, understanding that this must be a lot to process but it isn't enough to stop John.

''So clearly I don't get a say in this then. Maybe I don't want to go to some strange place and live with a stranger. I hardly know any of you people and yet you're making my decisions for me. You haven't even answered my questions yet like you both promised!'' John protests and shoots both Greg and Mycroft an icy glare.

Sherlock winces and turns his back to John, not wanting him to see how hurt he is. Sherlock is always able to hide his emotions, his pain. He builds walls thousands of feet tall so no one can hurt him, but John is different. It hurts Sherlock that John doesn't remember him, but being called a stranger by him is agonizing for the detective.

A stranger? Is that all I am, John? he thinks.

''John,' Greg says softly, inching forward. ''I know this is hard for you to understand but all three of us want what's best for you. If you can try to trust us until you recover most if not all of your memories then we promise that we will leave you alone.''

''We intend to keep our promise and we will be happy to answer any questions you have,'' Mycroft adds.

''So what happened to me? You mentioned an accident?''

Mycroft and Greg both share a look, trying to think of the best way to explain this all to John.

''You were hit by a car," Greg says slowly, making sure that John can process what he's saying. "The driver said that you just walked right into the middle of the road and he had no time to react before hitting you. We took him to answer more questions but his sister came to collect him. You were in hospital for three months. The first two you were in a coma while the doctors were trying to save you. You recovered remarkably quickly and then halfway through the third month you woke up. Shortly after this I came to visit you."

John closes his eyes, trying to process what Greg has just said, but he can only make out sounds. Screaming and the sound of rain. ''I don't remember any of that.''

''The doctors said that's normal and considering how quickly you recovered, they're hoping that a large percentage of your memories will come back.''

What if they don't? John thinks. What if even after all my questions are answered I'm still clueless and lost? Like an empty shell of a man.

''Wasn't there someone with me? Didn't I have a wife, girlfriend or...'' John trails off and Greg turns to Mycroft, silently asking him to help.

''Your phone was found on the street where the accident occurred and I was able to obtain it from the person. While examining it Gregory and I found a list of recently used contact names. We put their names through the computer at my office and we were able to find enough information about them to explain the relationship they had with you. Harry, your sister. Mike, your old friend, various other friends you had and finally a woman called Mary who is your wife. We tried to contact her but her number is no longer used. We went to the flat you shared with her but no one answered. It seems that Mary has disappeared,'' Mycroft explains quickly, not pausing for breath. Then, he continues, ''We told each of them that you had gone away to visit some old army friends, which they believed to be true since you were a medical doctor in the British Army."

''Why would Mary just vanish? Does she even know what happened to me?''

''We are not sure on both of those questions. Perhaps something happened before the accident which made her want to lose all contact with you. When I spoke with one of the nurses they said that one of your visitors was a woman but she didn't give a name. Perhaps that was Mary?

Whoever that woman was left this in your room,'' Mycroft says and hands John a crumpled piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it. 212030. ''We have no idea what it means. We were hoping you would look at it, Sherlock.''

John hands Sherlock the paper and Sherlock scans his eyes over the numbers. 212030? What does it mean? There has to be some connection.

''Any idea?'' John asks, studying Sherlock face to see if he knows what it means.

''Not at the moment. I don't like not knowing. When we get back to Baker Street I'll search up this number, see if there's any connection,'' Sherlock replies and folds the paper in half before putting it in his pocket.

Mycroft checks the time on his watch and frowns. ''Time seems to be moving quickly. Perhaps we should continue this discussion at a later date. For now it would be best to get John to Baker Street. That is if you want to go, John. ''

''Do you think it will actually help, if I go?'' John's voice is a soft whisper as he looks up at Sherlock, who is already on his feet.

''I think we have to try.'' Sherlock's voice is thick as he replies and he gets out his phone as a distraction from the not all angelic thoughts whirling through his brain.

Greg rises to help John while Sherlock taps at his phone. '' Are you coming, Sherlock?'' Greg asks as Mycroft and John make their way back to the reception.

''I'll be there in a minute,'' the detective replies and Greg just nods before following Mycroft and John out the door.

Sherlock waits until all three of them are gone until he sends the message.

Sherlock: Returning back to Baker Street.

Jim: With John I hope?

Sherlock: Did you expect any less from me?

* * *

Mycroft and Greg had returned at Baker Street for an hour before they left, after John had told them that he would be fine and yes he would call if he needed anything and Sherlock had said several times that he needed to get to work and didn't Mycroft have something more important to do?

John now sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace reading a newspaper. Sherlock sits in the kitchen doing one of his experiments and Mrs Hudson is making a cup of tea for John.

''There you are Doctor Watson, a nice cup of tea and some biscuits. Although just this once,'' Mrs Hudson says and places the pot of tea and plate of biscuits in front of John. She returns to the kitchen, giving the experiment Sherlock is working on a peculiar look before continuing to the fridge to get the milk.

''Sherlock, how many times have I told you not to put body parts in the fridge? What will the neighbours think?'' She says after inspecting a bag of thumbs which are lying on the top shelf.

''They need to stay as fresh as possible, hence the fridge and rarely does anyone come into 221B who is surprised by various body parts in the fridge. Especially the neighbours,'' Sherlock shoots back, not looking up from his microscope.

Mrs Hudson gives a long and tired sigh before retiring downstairs, leaving the two men on their own.

John tries to make conversation with Sherlock, but since coming back to the flat Sherlock has been very distant, almost as if worried to go near John. So, instead of talking John sits and sips at the tea and reads. He finishes the newspaper quick enough and his tea had turned cold by now so he just simply looks around the flat in silence.

It's cosy and warm in its own unique sort of way. The flowered wallpaper is elegant - or it would be if there wasn't a yellow painted smiley face on the wall with bullet marks around it. There are a number of seats in the room, but John was instantly drawn to the worn red chair with its back to the kitchen. There are various books scattered around 221B, mostly about crime. After arriving at the flat Mycroft and Greg had showed John around the flat, the living room, bathroom, and John managed to get a look upstairs. Mrs Hudson had even asked if she needed to make the bed upstairs which John had said that yes that they would be needing two bedrooms and no he and Sherlock were not together.

Yes, John had thought when he first sat down, he would enjoy living at 221B for now.

Sherlock makes the final touches to his experiment before deciding that he would stop for the day. It's already 6 o'clock and although he's not hungry he thinks that John must be. So after putting everything away in the correct places, Sherlock wanders into the living room. John is curled up with his arms crossed and his head drooping forward. He has fallen asleep. Sherlock slows to a stop when he sees John and he can't help but let a small smile inch its way onto his mouth. He looks so peaceful, he thinks. He moves forward again, careful not to make any noise, retires in the opposite chair. For a while Sherlock watches John sleep, watches the way his chest moves up and down and his nose twitch every now and then. An hour passes by like this, just Sherlock feeling content at watching John sleep, letting his mind relax. Sherlock is brought out of his trance when John's eyelids flutter open and he blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim lights. He notices Sherlock looking at him and he attempts to smile.

''Hey,'' he says, the word coming out croaky and he coughs. ''What time is it?''

''It's over seven. I was wondering if you wanted something to eat?'' Sherlock licks his lips, thinking back to the last time he had a proper meal. I'm not working on any cases at the moment, so some food should be OK.

''Sure, what do you have in mind?'' John asks and sits up to stretch, feeling the last remnants of sleep leaving him.

''There's a fish and chips shop not far from here. The owner always gives me extra portions.'' Sherlock briefly smiles and rises to get his coat while John laughs.

''I don't mind. Wherever you think is best.'' John reaches for his crutch and slowly gets up and walks towards Sherlock, where he is holding out John's jacket for him. He slips his arms into the sleeves and feels the cool material of the jacket on his arms before turning to face Sherlock.

''I don't mind either,'' Sherlock says and he doesn't because his mind is no longer a raging storm threatening to take away everything and anyone he cares about. John has come back to him and finally Sherlock can start the preparations to make sure it stays like that.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: A massive thank you to my beta Queen of the Beasties!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the show they run around and solve crimes in. I do however, own the plot and my OCs.**_

_**This chapter involves a case for Sherlock and a date for John, but not everything is as it seems...**_

_**Thank you to those who have followed this story. It does mean a lot to me!**_

_**If you like this then please R&R! It means so much to me. **_

Chapter Five

No one's safe

The following weeks at 221B are hectic to say the least. Sherlock has been working on multiple cases which John has tagged along to. With the help of Sherlock, John has been able to walk without the use of his crutch and he has slowly but surely been remembering things about his past, whether that be small things like the way he likes his jumpers folded or big things like both his mother's and father's full names. Fortunately for Sherlock, John hasn't remembered any of his past encounters with the detective or anything that could make him not want to stay at 221B. _I want to make sure you're mine before things are spoiled, John._

Yes, it is clear that John is making progress and nobody is more proud than Sherlock Holmes.

He tries to hide it, the rush of happiness he feels when John tells him that he can remember something else. It's not just John remembering things that makes Sherlock happy. It's John's presence in the flat. Every time John strolls into the living room or they both sit down after a case eating Chinese food, Sherlock is struck with the overwhelming feeling of blissfulness. For so long Sherlock has been without human company, without _John's_ company, but finally his soldier is back where he belongs.

''Sherlock,'' John says walking up the stairs and into the flat. He puts the shopping in the kitchen and starts to unload it.

''You took your time.'' Sherlock turns the page of his book, not bothering to look up.

''Well that happens when my flat mate refuses to go shopping but insists that I pick up human eyes for him to experiment with.'' Sherlock smiles and John holds up the jar of eyeballs. ''Where do you want these?''

''Leave them on the table; I'll deal with them later.''

John nods and when he finishes unpacking the shopping he goes to sit down. ''Any new cases?''

Sherlock puts the book down and looks at John. ''Lestrade said a client is coming over, apparently they've been struggling on this one for a few weeks.''

''Boys! It's a client!'' Mrs Hudson's voice rings from downstairs and seconds later a woman is standing in the doorway.

Sherlock pulls up a chair for the woman and she sits down. ''Talk quickly and don't be boring.''

''I'm Helen; I work at the hospital as a nurse. In fact that's how I knew about you, Mr Holmes, because I was one of the nurses who helped Mr. Watson,'' the woman says quickly and smiles at John. ''I was walking through the hospital hallways and as I opened the door to one of my patient's rooms...'' The woman stops and bites her lip. ''He was lying in the middle of the room, hospital needles were lying around him, and one was sticking out of his arm.''

''He could have left his room, collected the needles and did it to himself,'' John says, looking at Sherlock. ''It could be suicide.''

''That wouldn't have been possible. Mr. Pennings arrived at the hospital with three broken bones. He wasn't allowed to leave his bed, only for the use of the toilet of course.''

''Describe the man, his personality, family. '' Sherlock says.

The woman scrunches her nose and thinks '' When he came into the hospital, for three broken bones, he was very cheerful, made all the other patients and staff laugh. He mentioned he had two twin children but I only saw one. I never saw a wife or a partner but he wore a necklace with a ring on it around his neck.''

''He's a widow, wears the ring around his neck to remember. Sentiment.'' Sherlock sneers. ''It's obvious that the man had made a deal with one of the doctors to supply him the needles. He's been struggling without his wife and her death was too hard to bear so he resorted to kill himself. John is right, this is a suicide. Case closed, job done, goodbye.'' Sherlock hastily stands and gently but firmly grabs the woman's arm to escort her out, but she struggles from his grip and tugs her arm away.

''No! Mr. Holmes I came here on the thought that you would be able to help me! A man, one of _my_ patients, has been murdered.'' The woman drops her head and lowers her voice. ''I'm begging you, please help me.''

''Sherlock.'' John stands behind the man ''She needs our... your help. You can't turn her away.''

Helen raises her head and tears fill her eyes as she looks at Sherlock.

The skin between his eyebrows is creased but when he looks at John his face softens.

''Yes,'' he says slowly ''Yes, I will help you.''

* * *

Sherlock and John arrive at the hospital just after two and, after asking for Helen, find themselves in a small room standing in front of the body of Mr. Pennings. Lestrade had agreed that Sherlock had exactly five minutes to look around before they had to get the body to the morgue. With no time to lose Sherlock crouches and starts to examine the body.

''Anything?'' John asks, arms folded as he joins Sherlock on the floor.

''Married for 10 plus years going by the state of the ring around his neck. Both had stayed faithful, the inside of the band is just as dirty as the outside. The ring around his neck is smaller, thinner; balance of probability suggests that the wearer of the ring was a woman, as women typically have smaller fingers than men. The chain is old and cheap, some of the silver is coming off, could afford better, so he's been wearing it around his neck for a long time. The needles around him are empty, there for show, but the needle inside him...'' Sherlock inspects the needle and slowly pulls it out of the man. When the tip of the needle is removed a clear droplet of liquid hangs at the end and Sherlock darts his index finger underneath to catch the droplet. His finger and thumb rub together and he frowns. ''Its water. How could it only be water?'' He mutters to himself and before he can look around for more clues Lestrade opens the door and tells him that his time is up.

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock is sitting in his chair, eyes closed, and his hands placed underneath his chin in a pray-like manner. John tries several times to ask Sherlock if he wants any food but he is met with silence and he eventually gives up and goes for a walk.

''Mr. Watson!'' Someone shouts outside and John turns around to see Helen running towards him.

''Is everything OK? Did something happen at the hospital?'' John asks worryingly.

''No nothing's happened. I was just coming by to your flat to see if you had found anything new.''

''I'm not the one you should be asking. Sherlock's the one who does the uncovering. I'm more of a tag along than anything else,"' John jokes.

''Nonsense! Without you Mr. Holmes wouldn't even be on the case. You made him listen.''

''Which believe me is a lot harder than it looks,'' John jokes again and he and Helen both laugh as they continue to walk back to 221B.

''I can imagine. Umm, er, Mr. Watson, I-''

''John please.''

''John. I was-er just wondering if maybe tonight, if you're free, if you wanted to get a drink or dinner?'' Helen asked hopefully, folding her arms over her chest and biting her lip.

''Dinner _and_ drink both sound great. Where should I meet you?'' John and Helen both exchange phone numbers and agree to meet at Angelo's at 8 'o'clock. With a big grin John opens the door and skips up the stairs to tell Sherlock he's going out.

At half past seven John has tried on every piece of clothing he owns. He needs to look presentable. He needs to look... well... attractive. Since waking up in hospital everything for John has been strange and confusing. Being told that he had been hit by a car, living with a man he should be can't remember, finding out that he has - or rather had - a wife and an ordinary life. Then suddenly being thrust into his current manic life. Going out for a date seemed the most normal thing John could do.

After deciding that what he was wearing seemed fine, John says a quick goodbye to Sherlock and dashes out of the flat and hails a taxi to meet Helen.

* * *

''More wine?'' John asks

''Please.'' Helen smiles and holds her glass out to John. ''So you're a doctor?''

_So I've been told,_John thinks. ''Er, yes, an army doctor to be exact. Wouldn't you know that? You were one of my nurses after all.''

Helen finishes her mouthful of wine and shakes her head, ''Strangely no, no one knew anything about you, only your name and that was only after someone questioned the person who brought you in.''

''Did they mention anything else? Maybe a telephone number? What did they look like?'' Spouts of questions escape John in his eagerness and he leans in closer, not wanting to miss her answers.

''John, I'm sorry but I don't know, on all three of those. I never met them,'' Helen's voice is soft as she reaches over the table and takes John's hand in hers. ''I know you want to remember but try not to let it worry you, yeah? It will all come back to you in no time!''

Somehow John isn't quite convinced but he smiles anyway and Helen's voice becomes bright and bubbly again. ''How about a toast? To you, John Watson, the man who turned up at the hospital in the late hours of the night, a mystery, a puzzle.''

_The last piece of the puzzle._

''Cheers!'' Helen shouts and raises her glass and John reluctantly raises his.

**Sherlock: Nice speech.**

John jumps a little when he feels his phone vibrate and fishes it out before hiding it under the table so Helen doesn't see.

_How the hell did he hear Helen's speech?_John thinks. _I thought he was at the flat._

**John: Where the hell are you?**

**Sherlock: Very lovely indeed.**

**John: I'm being serious Sherlock.**

**Sherlock: John the mystery man Watson.**

**John: Sherlock I swear-**

**Sherlock: I need you back at Baker Street.**

**John: I'm busy.**

**Sherlock: I know who killed Mr. Pennings.**

**Sherlock: Could be dangerous.**

John quickly glances up from his phone to check on Helen. She has her eyes closed and is talking, oblivious that John isn't paying attention to her. He doesn't want to cut the date short but...

**John: Fine.**

**Sherlock: Great. Taxi's waiting outside.**

John rolls his eyes and puts his phone away. ''Helen, I'm really sorry but I'm afraid I have to go. Sherlock's just messaged me. Sounds pretty important, so I should go.'' He gives her an apologetic smile, then stands up and takes her hand in his. ''This was great, though.''

''Oh, right. Well,'' Helen says, sounding obviously annoyed that John was leaving. ''Yes it was...maybe I can call you and we can get together again sometime?''

''That would be great.''

John walks out of the restaurant after paying the bill and gets into the taxi waiting for him. Inside is Sherlock and once John is seated the driver begins to take them back to 221B.

''You took your time,'' Sherlock notes.

''I couldn't just walk out, neither could I expect her to pay the bill after I run off and leave.''

''Ah John, ever the gentleman.''

''Shut up.''

They both burst into laughter and the rest of the journey back is shared in companionable silence.

Inside the restaurant Helen walks out of the ladies toilets. She grabs her bag and puts on her coat. She thanks the waiters and opens the glass door and walks out. Before she can make it to her car, though, a man calls out and approaches her.

''Excuse me, miss?'' He smiles, one corner of his mouth rising. ''I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with your, uh, date, John. I don't wish to be rude but I know him and let's just say that he's got quite a dark past.''

''First of all, that's incredibly rude of you to listen to someone else's conversation. Secondly how exactly do you know John?'' Helen asks, raising one of her eyebrows and twisting her body, ready to make a run for it if this guy tries anything funny.

''I'm sorry about that but I'm an old friend of his. Took me a while to recognise him but once I saw him...'' The man walks slowly closer to Helen and she can just about make out his face in the dark light. ''I couldn't let someone carry on talking to him without knowing who he is. Especially as pretty woman as yourself.'' The man smiles and Helen can feel herself blushing.

''And who is he?'' She takes a step forwards.

The man pauses and turns his head, looking down the street. ''I'll be willing to fill you in if you let me buy you drink.''

Helen smiles and she can feel herself crumbling to the man's charms before nodding her head and walking towards him. ''What was your name again?''

The man chuckles darkly and puts an arm around her waist. ''Jim. Jim Moriarty.''

_Too easy._


End file.
